


Loss Ficlet: Barrier

by missclairebelle



Series: Loss (Ficlets) [2]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 14:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missclairebelle/pseuds/missclairebelle
Summary: Based on a prompt from the lovely @kalendraashtar: But also, super weird prompt. I’d love to read your version of Fraser babes discussing contraception and all that awkwardness.





	Loss Ficlet: Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> Well, yeah, Kal. Let’s go. 
> 
> In the timeline this is the first thing that comes after Three Times Jamie Fraser Did Not Get Claire Beauchamp’s Number, And The One Time He Did. Their relationship is SUPER new here. It was fun to revisit the early Loss J&C.
> 
> WARNING: Subject matter is consistent with the prompt.
> 
> As always, thanks to @kkruml for putting up with me. She was extra patient on this one - particularly when I accidentally made her re-read the same version twice in a row.

 

##  **Loss (Modern AU) Barrier**

Jamie Fraser was positively charming – hair mussed, eyes sex sleepy and dark – when he asked me about birth control.  It was our second Sunday morning together. He was sitting across from me at his kitchen table and eating cereal when he brought it up.

Since Friday evening when I had walked to his flat, half-dazed after a long shift at the hospital, we had left only for coffee and takeaway. In that time, we had been learning each other’s flavors, cataloging each other’s sounds, educating each other on what made us feel good, and figuring out how to make our bodies move together seamlessly with mouths fused together.

It had been fun ( _laughter, teasing, sloppy mouths with loose aim_ ), serious ( _warring tongues, reverent touches broken by a flash of dominance and a need for sensations that I had never felt before_ ), and sleepy ( _loose limbs, lazy hands, low noises_ ).

“Let’s get this straight, James Fraser,” I said, bringing my feet up to the chair and tucking my knees up against my chest.

The fact that I was already wearing his t-shirt and sitting at his kitchen table without knickers meant the birth control conversation was _way_ too late.

“Since last weekend you’ve already been inside of me… what? Six or seven times? And –”

“Eight, but continue –”

“Oh, you cocky bastard. You’re bloody keeping track?”

His face looked like it was about to crack with a smile that transformed his entire expression – eyes brightening, waking up.

“So – eight times, and you’re _just_ _now_ bringing up birth control?”

Jamie Fraser hardly seemed like the type to blush, but his ears looked precariously close to turning pink when he dipped his spoon back into his cereal bowl.  He kept his eyes on his spoon when he said, “Well, I havena… _ye know_ … inside of ye… or anything.”

“Ejaculated?” I tried, raising a single eyebrow as I filled in the blanks for him.

“Christ,” he sighed, raking a hand over his face.  

I laughed at him openly this time. “Too clinical?”

Jamie just shrugged.  

He had worn a condom each time we had fallen into bed. It had been a non-issue. He had never put on the resigned show of a man who wanted his partner to say: “ _no, no it’s okay, don’t_.” He had just assumed that _protected_ was how it was going to be. It was as though he never had an expectation to the contrary. And it was sexy as hell.

“I’m going to sound a little like a doctor, so you’re going to have to forgive me.” I drew my hair into a bun high on my crown and tilted my head.  I felt the slight, easy shift to “Dr. Beauchamp” despite my lack of scrubs, stethoscope, or knickers. “But don’t you think that ‘are you on birth control?’ is a question that responsible adults ask **_before_** they have sex with someone?”

“Weel, I got carried away, ye ken… look at ye. Ye cannae imagine what ran through my mind when I saw ye that night at that gala. I wasna about to ask ye about yer reproductive health at that moment. I was concentrating on something far more… _interesting_.”  

My mind split between two poles.  

On the one hand, his thinly-veiled come-on had me primed to swoon in a way that I hadn’t in years.

On the other hand, _how many women had he sat across from over cereal saying this to_?

I had vowed, on my walk to his flat Friday evening, that I was going to keep this _light_ and _loose_.  He had been a _patient_ after all. My mind stuttered over the thought one more time ( _oh god, he had been a **patient**_ ) –

“Earth to Dr. Beauchamp?”

– and I came back into the moment at his kitchen table.

“Sorry,” I sighed, struggling for a moment to find the last thread in the conversation.  

Sensing that I was a little adrift, Jamie provided a reminder without any inflection of judgment in his voice.  “I was telling ye how sexy ye looked at that gala.”

I swallowed and let out a slight, breathy sound. “Oh yeah?” I asked, my voice was suddenly husky in a way that made me a little self-conscious.

“Aye, yer ass… Christ. It was like ye had it dipped in gold.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes sparking with _something_. I hadn’t known him long, but I knew enough about men to see that part of the look he was giving me was lust and the other part predatory instinct.  “Those eight times were enough for ye to realize I’m an ass man, right?”

I bit down on my lip to hold back a laugh. I was sure that _I_ was _actually_ blushing at that. Apparently Jamie Fraser excelled at effervescent flirtation of a post-coital breakfast.

“ _An-ee-way_ ,” he said, his drawled exaggeration of each syllable punctuated by his rolling eyes. “Ye dinna think to ask _me_ about it, either, Claire.”

Confused, I furrowed my brow.  He cleared his throat.

“I mean… the first time we were together. Before we… ye never asked if we were okay, uh… safe.”

“Jamie, I’ve seen your medical history and every test that has been run on you for the last six months. _And_ you’ve worn a condom every time we’ve…”

My voice trailed off. _How did I describe what in the hell were we doing in his flat?_ It was too soon for “ _made love_ ” not to sound cheesy. It was too mechanical to say “ _had sexual intercourse_.” And “had sex” seemed somehow too basic for what we had been doing together.  

The remaining alternative was on the tip of my tongue, but it was too crude –

“Fucked?” he said, his inflection indicating that it was a question.

_Oh._ So he went _there_. His use of the word was as though he had pressed his thumb and forefinger over a flame, snuffing it out.

“Well, that’s one way to describe it.”  

My voice was flat, but I couldn’t figure out why. I attempted to remind myself of what this was: “ _Loose. Easy. Fun. Fling. Don’t fall too easy.”_

Snorting, probably at my reaction, Jamie reached for the carafe of orange juice in the center of the table and poured himself a small glass.

“I have no’ had an opportunity to study yer medical records as ye have mine. It sounds like ye have an unfair advantage over me, Dr. Beauchamp.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded, trying to sound noncommittal.

My medical records were fairly simple.  I took my feet off of the chair, curling my toes down into the rug beneath the kitchen table.

If Jamie had been able to read my file, it would have been quite unremarkable to him – father, deceased (car accident; no known allergies); mother, deceased (car accident; no known allergies). Self-reported history (migraines, mild acid reflux); prescription medications (none); birth control (Mirena IUD implanted two years earlier when patient self-reported monogamous sexual relationship. The things about my life that the medical record _wouldn’t_ lay bare: there was little sex life to speak of with _him_ by the end.

With _Frank_.

“I dinna ken what yer… situation is… I mean, outside of me.” His brow furrowed and his eyes met mine.  He looked at me intently before continuing.  “I mean, ye… date, I assume?”

“The use of ‘ _date_ ’ as a verb has always confused me,” I confessed, shrugging. “I rarely go on dates. When I have, it’s been mostly with people that Geillis – my best girlfriend – randomly selects for me.”

Jamie was silent and I continued against my better judgment.  For some reason I suddenly felt the needs to fill the silence.

“I… I mean, I don’t actively seek people to, uh… go out with. I don’t know. I guess I don’t see the appeal in tracking down random men so we can share awkward meals and conversation. I don’t find satisfaction in pretending that I want to split the check.”

Jamie cleared his throat, smiling.  

_Oh_.

He was asking me about _sex_ , not about dating.

It struck me that I knew _very little_ about this man. Our vocabularies had not yet synced up to have the easiness of an actual friendship, let alone a relationship.

“No,” I finally answered the question he had _actually_ been asking. I was definitely blushing now, I could feel it crawling up from beneath the neck of his t-shirt. “ _No_. Christ, I can’t even remember the last time –”

It was _Frank_ , but that wasn’t a door that needed to be opened when we were so _easy_ together – there was a whole messy realm of dysfunction there. I couldn’t bring myself to delve into it now that we had started to learn each other’s languages, to feel at ease with our banter.

“—I mean… I can’t remember the last time other than you.”

I observed him for just a second. His fingertip was running a path around the rim of his juice glass.

He had started the line of questioning, so I countered, “Fair’s fair. What about you?”

“And what about me **_what_**?” he asked, feigning ignorance to my question.  When I rolled my eyes, he quickly relented. “Awhile. Six months, maybe? I’ve no’ made it a priority to go around _dating_ , the _verb_. Though I am not opposed to a _date_ , the _noun_.”

I made a sound and took a bite of my now-room temperature toast.  I had no idea what we were talking about now. _Was he asking me on a date?_ _Was he propositioning me to wander back to his bedroom? Was he not talking about me at all?_

“Ye’ve managed to smear some jam…” he mumbled, leaning over the table with a cloth napkin in his hand. He wiped at my lower lip. He took maybe a little longer than strictly necessary, clearing away the smudge on my lower lip and pressing into it with his thumb.

Suspended over the remains of our makeshift breakfast, Jamie looked _beautiful_.  Early morning sunlight was streaming gold through the window that stretched across the front of his late industrial-style flat. The light warmed the undertones in his hair to an almost strawberry blonde.  His jawline was ghosted with a day’s worth of stubble. A slight sliver of skin peeked out between his t-shirt and sweatpants, muscles carved in soft arcs over his hips.

Yes. Right. “ _Beautiful_ ” was the term to describe him.

His words were throaty when he said, “I’m going to kiss ye, Claire.”

I did not think he was asking for permission so much as telling me.  His lips were parted and he wet them with the quick sweep of a darting tongue. Something told me that if he had meant it as a question, he knew good and god damn well that the answer would be a breathy “ _yes_.” But I nodded anyway, sucking in a short breath in anticipation of contact with his mouth.  

The end of his nose traveled down the bridge of mine slowly, his eyes fixed on mine. When I exhaled, he inhaled.  Then he brushed his lips over mine, only the very tip of his tongue touching my lower lip where his thumb had just been. I was frozen, arched towards him when he pulled back.

“So, Claire. We were talkin’ about birth control,” he said, his body halfway back down to his chair.

The right side of his mouth curved up into the most self-satisfied smirk I had ever seen. It was like he _knew_ what he was doing to me – making warmth pool in my belly, sending my mind off to veer sideways. I suddenly went from wanting to know Jamie Fraser better to wanting to know absolutely _everything_ about him. I slowly came back to the moment, blinking and half dazed.

“I ken I did no’ handle this conversation like an adult the other night when ye first let me take ye to my bed, but I am now. I’m a changed man, Sassenach, when I’m in full control of all of my faculties.”

I took a long sip of his orange juice and settled back into my chair, hoping the sharp tang of the citrus would clear my mind. I tried to look nonchalant.

“What makes you think that you need to be worried about birth control as an ongoing matter?”

“What do ye mean by that, Sassenach?”

I crossed my legs and primly attempted to arrange his t-shirt to cover as much of my thighs as I could. “It means you’re assuming that I’m going to keep–”

“Actually, I’ll just go ahead an’ say it, aye? I am hopin’ that ye’ll find it in yer heart to come by again next weekend… _and_ to stay awhile today.”

“Oh well,” I said, trying to arrange my face in a neutral expression. “In that case… rest assured that you’re not going to get a phone call from me in a few months about a surprise baby.”

He looked at me like he actually wanted to know more.

“Were you looking for… like… details?”

“Not really, unless ye want to share. I mean, I want kids. Someday. A whole rugby team’s worth. But… not now.”

He was sizing me up.  I just opened and closed my mouth, unable to get the thought to come out.

“Did I give ye too much information for a casual fling, then?”

His eyes were absolutely _sparkling_. He easily rose and he picked my hand up from the table, bringing it to his mouth before pulling me up onto my feet.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I’m no’ askin’ ye to bear me children. I’m just wantin’ to see if ye’ll let me take ye back to my bed.”

And he led me down the hall – his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. I could have sworn I heard him utter “ _for now_ ,” but it was so absurd that I ignored it.  

For the rest of the afternoon, we stayed tangled with each other, bodies chilled by the cool air coming through the window and warmed by one another.

 


End file.
